21 Jan 2011

We 3: Intimacy - Reflection on an Installation Exploration

Saturday 15th January 2011.

3 of us. Lots of you. Some questions. 3 Cubicles. The Street under our feet. You. Us. Many moments. 

We offered:

You Time: alone.
Talk Time: we listen.
Quiet Time: we look at you, we draw you, we write a poem about you, we knit with you.
Hug Time: we hold you.
Tea Time: a comforting cuppa, shared or alone.


A day of intimate encounters (and not so intimate nearly-encounters). A big thank you to all involved, to all those people who opened an internal door and stepped out to meet us at the same time that we stepped in. Juicy thanks especially to The Girls for having us along to experiment, during their residency The Paper Eaters Do Bargate, presented by Millais Off-Site Projects. Hurrah for art!  

I'll be posting further responses from We 3 in the next few weeks, but here's a rough wordburp, something that didn't want to be written in a paragraph; it is for you to take between your teeth, rub up against or look into:


Intimacy (January 15th)

                                          We 3

We met
People and armour and insides,
well-hidden outsides - more than our made-up faces-
We met
the tiniest of grown-up hands
delivering a delicate stroke
unbeknownst
to the conscious mind
She: touched my thumb
as she talked
and didn't think twice.
He: a hug with so much 
space 
and so little time.
Off, he had to be off
and why wasn't I talking?

We met
They: giggling, safe outside the window
pack rabbits
the brave broke away
allowing themselves to be
young again.
For their minutes of intimacy,
more than our drawing,
maybe their moment
was leaving their performance at the door.
The brave playful.


We met
She: cubicle open
mouth too
talking her thinking
into shared space.
Astonishing. Humbling.
Thank you.
He: what is intimacy? what is? and again ?
where? Intheheadinthehead, searching for a peg
striving thriving in the untying


Maybe.
Yet
his memory of a moment:
quite the contrast. Quiet.
The contrast: a knowing of faith, not of mere theory.

We met
an enthused
a unit
They: move together

this may be all unknown
but it is fun it seems
Cup of tea?
Yes please.
Dipping toes in
when there are no biscuits
feels good.

Well met,

Intimacy

connection - self, other, space.
Intimacy
exploration.
Three girls
with painted face.


....

We 3: Intimacy: Your Words

We 3: What is your favourite intimate moment?

You: 









We 3: Intimacy: In Pictures

Things We Said, Things in Our Heads
Watching You Watching Us Watching You
In The Window Where The Paper Eaters Live
Intimacy: Knit a Stitch
A Portrait: Intimate Scribblings
You Time: in Front of The Girls' Shrine
Tea Time: Yin Yang Peaceful Thang

14 Jan 2011

We 3: Intimacy - An Installation Exploration, part of The Girls' Residency in Southampton.

Roll up, roll up, nuzzle up? No?





Intimacy...what is intimacy if it's not what you thought it was?


That's what We 3 (Antonia Beck, Felicity Crabb and myself) will be exploring this saturday, 13th January, as part of The Girls' PaperEaters (http://www.thegirls.co.uk) residency in Southampton City centre.

Come and redeem you very own gift voucher:
For an imaginative moment of the unexpected, beyond the 80's hairdo and loud neon nothing, join us to find connection and quiet in a cup of tea or a look - can we gaze at you and draw you? Intimacy: has anyone ever written a poem about you? What is a hug made of? 
Let's explore. 

Come and be present with us this Saturday and we'll see what we discover.



Unit 26, Bargate Centre, Southampton City Centre, 12-5pm.

....

12 Jan 2011

Happy New Year!

Hello 2011,

What bundle of gifts does the year hold in its arms? Well let's wait and see...
Meanwhile, a little reflection from 2010. Below is a poem that I wrote whilst trying to write Tamasine, Little Green and the Garden. Or maybe sometimes a poem writes us? Either way, the conclusion is that your gaze, your presence as reader/listener/collaborator is very important. I do like the fact that, as readers or audience, we are all part of the creative process and bring our own special light to each moment.

So, thank you.





This story (December 2010)

This story was made in a stolen moment.
Stolen swiftly, with crossings out re-hatching scratchings thoughts stuck stickily
eked out and spun into something.

A moment.
Allow me, please, a moment.

Fires need stoking, words need poking.
Kindling
a beginning
no matter how clumsy
how sloppy
soupy start
wet words take form
clay in a kiln
rising up to
greet your hands your
eyes ears
your heart.
Flames lick
and dance
red rabbits haring around.
In amongst ashes,
Gods of old
rage and fight
blue flicker green
burn white.

And so, stage set,
some words.
A fire.
And you.
Into your hands a box is delivered
red upon brown
red haring
red herring

EXCUSE ME
I AM TRYING TO write a story
your expectations are non-existent
in this moment
so they must be mine
that weigh heavy on my shoulders
A stole.
Dead fox or
rabbit hides sewn together
with
coarse string…
This was meant to look far more beautiful than dead words squished onto a page.
This story is tired.

It does not want to stand up and
tell you what
it HAS TO SAY
A grumpy gift
what of this?
In this moment.


This story


peels back a page
naked
reinvents itself
fresh face
expressionless
looking
again
at you.

You.
Story smiles.
You are hard to write for, you know.
Story perseveres
as it has a need beyond ink-existence
only on your lips, in your shells, your vision, only in your
heart yours
you
can it be born
and reborn
tumble out
in the sun
legs wobble
lick lick
fawn
story
born and reborn
in your
hearth.

Thank you
says Story
feeling more formed
in your particular heat
consumed
exhumed
dismantled in its entirety
words chopped back to
chips
saw dust
you saw us
words and wordsmith
now yours
in this moment
image
clay pot
frozen hot
in time.

Please allow me a moment.
A moment
stolen away.


....